Trapped in the Web of Torment
by Lucius Malfoy1
Summary: Harry is in trouble with Voldemort. Draco is mixed up with it too. All of your fav characters have come in for a piece of the story! (longer summary inside)
1. Screw solitude Harry

Ficcy readers of the world! Here is another one in the line of thousands. *grrrrr*  
  
Disclaimer: All of you about to attempt to read this must have some idea about the original Harry Potter stories. If you have an idea about the Harry Potter stories then you will KNOW that it all belongs to J.K. Rowling. The characters, the magic, the world IS NOT mine, I just thought up a bizarre plot and stuck the whole thing together.  
  
Title: Trapped in the Web of Torment  
  
Author: Lucius Malfoy  
  
Pairing: None, but I ain't saying it will stay that way  
  
Setting: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy's sixth year at Hogwarts (just b4 the Xmas holidays)  
  
Summary: well lets just say a lot happens. Harry is kidnapped (3 guess by who), Draco is messed up in the whole thing, Voldemort has Snape wrapped around his little finger (but how?), there is more about Sirius' origin than we first assumed, Lupin is still a werewolf (duh!), Voldemort still has a stick up his arse about the Potter's but he wont kill Harry straight away (why?), Draco doesn't like water (past trauma in his life?), Lucius is a down right bastard (especially to his son), Narcissa isn't herself, Snape was a bad, bad boy something happened to one of Harry's friends 6 months ago, Ron has changed (what is the reason?). is that enough of a summary for you?  
  
Warning: this is R rated (therefore that means that it is for readers 17 years and older.) There is a good amount of foul mouth mainly. There may also be a gory bit, or two, but I wont say for sure as I don't know if fanfiction.net will appreciate it (maybe I should just stick it up and hope for the best, eh?)  
  
Note: just so you know, this story goes between Harry and Draco. There are also looks into the past so that you understand what they are thinking about.  
  
Well that's it from me (shit, I talk too much). Lucius Malfoy now presents:  
  
'Trapped in the Web of Torment.'  
*************  
  
Harry lay there, in the dark of night, shivering slightly from the cold of his so-called room. How was the anguish of being in virtual solitary confinement of a place where he was once comfortable to call home supposed to keep him safe from the one who wanted him dead? The one who had been after his blood when he was only a year old? The one who had killed his parents just to have the opportunity to cast the most powerful and deadly curse on an innocent baby?  
  
He knew he was lucky to have survived so many encounters with the dark lord, even at the age of 16, but at what cost did Harry call this lucky? Again Lord Voldemort was looking for the Boy-Who-Lived. Again the evil sorcerer had come up with some brilliant scheme to finally get his revenge on the thorn in his side. It was just unfortunate that this thorn happened to be a boy who wanted to live and have a normal life.  
  
It was the word of the potions master of Hogwarts that informed him and the Headmaster of Voldemort's plans. Oh, how Harry didn't want to be here, but he was the saviour of the wizarding world, so all precautions to keep him safe until the time came, had to be taken. That's right. Harry was not yet a fully qualified wizard, and therefore not strong enough to tackle the evil thing! Not that he hadn't faced him when he was one, eleven, twelve, fourteen and fifteen.  
  
A scowl formed on Harry's face. Couldn't his so-called allies have provided him with a soft something to sit on? The only difference Harry could define between being here and captured by Voldemort was that he wasn't being tortured as a sport, but left to dwell in his own thoughts. Was that really so much better?  
  
Harry sat up and leant his head back against a protruding stone of the wall. Why was it that all of his superiors still treated him as an incompetent child, even thought they know just how much he had already been through?  
  
*15 hours earlier*  
  
Billowing black robes glided through the halls of Hogwarts at three in the morning. The man flanked in this attire didn't seem at all perturbed that the tapping of his shoes clearly echoed off the walls, when he usually made no sound at all. He had important information to tell one headmaster, and the life of an insolent brat to safe.  
  
Severus Snape came face-to-face with the gargoyle entrance of the headmasters quarters and gave the password.  
  
"Blood Pops."  
  
The tapping of his shoes ceased as the travelling staircase took him to the old wooden doors and simultaneously opened as he walked off onto the little platform.  
  
A silver bearded Dumbledore stood there, frown in place, with a Potions Master staring back, looking almost as grave.  
  
"Severus."  
  
"Albus."  
  
"Please come in."  
  
With a court nod Severus followed Dumbledore into the circular office and immediately took a seat across from the table.  
  
"How did it go?" Dumbledore questioned, cutting right to the subject matter of this meeting.  
  
"That depends," was Snape's initial reply, but quickly continued. "For me, it didn't go so well. Voldemort has his suspicions and he seems to be looking at me being the traitor. He cast the Cruciatus on me a few times just to make sure I am still faithful to him."  
  
Dumbledore looked at the Potions Master with slight sympathy in his eyes, but knew better than to give this man any pity. Severus has had to deal with much more pain than he was explaining now. No, Severus would probably terminate the relationship this instant if Albus showed any kind of concern.  
  
Snape continued, "With that aside, I did, however, get some information on the Dark Lord's plans concerning Mr. Potter."  
  
Dumbledore didn't show any change in his expression after hearing what Snape said. He just templed his fingers together, rested his elbows in the desk and waited for Severus to continue.  
  
Snape gave no evidence that he noticed the headmasters behaviour.  
  
"Voldemort is planning to kidnap Potter in a few hours."  
  
"So soon? Why is it that we haven't learnt of this until now?"  
  
"I believe, headmaster, that only Voldemort's most trusted was let in on the plan, and as I said before, he is suspicious on which side I am most faithful. He announced it tonight to all of us so we were informed on what he wants us to do when the time comes."  
  
Dumbledore studied the set face of Severus. Things had to be done, obviously, but some things weren't completely clear.  
  
"If Voldemort planned an attack to get Harry out of Hogwarts, then why didn't he ask for your knowledge of the wards I put up? And how come he is so sure he will be able to get in here? My wards are strong enough to hold out two thousand Death Eaters, and we both know he hasn't recruited that many people."  
  
"He used his other source who has a sufficient knowledge of the grounds and areas surrounding Hogwarts: Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew believes that he knows of a secret passage directly into here that you wouldn't have been able to ward off to the outside world. One of the Death Eaters were to come in and lure Potter out so he was open for Voldemort's attack."  
  
"Do you know who the Death Eater assigned this task is?"  
  
"No," Snape shook his head. "The Death Eater must have been taken aside inconspicuously."  
  
"Right." Dumbledore stood in resolution. "When is this attack to take place precisely?"  
  
"Nine o'clock. It seems that Voldemort does not want his to-be charge to miss his bedtime."  
  
It was of Snape's nature to be sarcastic, and even thought it seeped into his speech, as usual (especially when involving Potter), but both man ignored what was said, in case it was true.  
  
"Ok," Dumbledore took charge. "Go and get Harry and take him to a secure area in the dungeons. Whoever Voldemort sends will have a hard time leading Harry out into the open when they have the maze down there to contend with. Once you've done that come back up here. I will have gathered all of the other staff and we will develop a plan to prevent a physical assault if they happen to take that course of action."  
  
Snape courtly nodded once again and hastily exited the headmaster's office.  
  
The walk up to Gryffindor tower took no time at all for Severus. His mind was preoccupied with the Death Eater meeting, and was going over every detail in case there was anything his missed of importance to tell Dumbledore.  
  
The Fat lady grizzled at being woken so early in the morning by a not so nice, and not so patient Snape.  
  
"Fine, go through, but don't wake me when you leave."  
  
The painting swung forward and Snape walked directly towards the boys dormitories. He knew where he was going. It was virtually staff regimen to know where the famous Boy-Who-Lived slept.  
  
He twisted the doorknob and proceeded into where the sixth years resided. Refusing to be considerate to the five sleeping forms, he found Potter's bed and literally yelled for him to get up.  
  
"POTTER, UP NOW!"  
  
"W- Wha?"  
  
One body sat up, eyes hardly open, head jerking around to find the source of the yelling. Four other bodies groaned and rolled over, not responding, as it wasn't their name called out.  
  
Snape swiftly gathered up some muggle clothes that seemed to belong to Potter, and threw them at the half awake boy.  
  
"What's going on?" the voice was slightly muffled due to the jeans that had landed over his head.  
  
"You have to get up NOW, Potter. I'll explain on the way."  
  
"On the way where?" Harry had by now determined that in was the infamous Potions Master of Hogwarts giving the orders. Who else would be so inconsiderate to a sleeping someone at three thirty in the morning?  
  
"There is no time for that. Get dressed and lets get going."  
  
Harry scowled but otherwise, did what he was told without complaint and protest. Within two minutes Harry had shoved on his shoes, left the laces untied, and slipped his wand in his right pants pocket. The second Harry was finished Snape lead him out of the dormitory, through the common room and into the silent and shadowed halls.  
  
Severus could feel the boys eyes on his back. He gritted his teeth, why did the boy have to be so intimidating? No. He had dealt with the workings of the famous Potter in who knows how many Potion classes. Just because this was a different situation, and he knew that those eyes were silently asking the questions that he wanted answered, Severus Snape would not give in.  
  
The two walked down through two more floors and it was Harry who couldn't stand the silence any longer.  
  
"Well? Why have you dragged me out of my bed in the early hours of the morning? There has to be some reason you have graced me with your presence."  
  
Even Harry couldn't keep his respect up for Snape at the moment. How dare this man come into his room, wake him up, order him around and not explain what all of this is all about.  
  
Snape scowled. "If you must know Potter, you are in danger and some of us are risking our own lives just to keep you safe."  
  
Harry silently withdrew into himself. He knew what Snape was talking about. Because of him Snape would dance with the devil every time a Death Eater meeting was called. It was bad enough that Harry felt guilty from the many lives Voldemort had taken, being directly responsible for his resurrection, therefore being directly responsible for so many deaths. So why did Snape go around making his life a living hell? Not that his life could be classified as normal, even without him.  
  
Voldemort was out to get Harry, and it seemed that he wasn't going to give up anytime soon. The last time had been at the end of the last school year, exactly a year after the resurrection. Now it was two days before the Christmas Holidays started. He couldn't even give Harry a year to himself anymore.  
  
Harry pushed the thoughts away and directed his attention back on the present situation.  
  
"So what's happening? Where are you taking me?"  
  
"You, Potter, are to stay down in the dungeons where no one can find you. While you are there, myself and the rest of the staff here will be increasing the wards around here."  
  
Harry was silent after this. The best course of action here was to move quickly and to keep from pissing Snape off.  
  
Within another fifteen minutes Snape had stopped in the maze of the dungeon rooms at an old rustic door. He tapped the lock with his wand, mumbled a spell that Harry couldn't hear, and pushed Harry inside.  
  
"Stay here, and keep quiet. When all is safe myself or one of the other teachers will come here and collect you."  
  
Harry scanned the room and furrowed his brow. There was nothing, absolutely nothing in the room other than Snape and himself.  
  
"Jeez, could this room be anymore prison like?"  
  
Couldn't he at least stay in a place that had something soft to sit on, like an iron barstool? The stone walls and floor didn't look inviting at all.  
  
"Potter, here is the perfect place for you. It is never used and there are no windows or other doors for someone uninvited to barge in on you."  
  
Harry wasn't pleased. By the tone of Snape's voice, it sounded like it wasn't someone else he was keeping out, but it was like this to keep him in. At least he had his wand.  
  
"Fine. How long am I going to be in here?" Harry snapped at Snape, making it perfectly clear that this arrangement was totally unnecessary, or, at least, and insult to Harry's capability at defending himself. He wasn't just a little, defenceless boy anymore.  
  
"We are unsure Potter. But as I said, you will be out of here as soon as it is safe."  
  
Snape turned to leave but remembered something very important. He walked up to Harry, and as quick as a snake injecting its victim with venom, snatched Potter's wand out of his pocked and tucked it safely into his own.  
  
"Hey! Give that back!"  
  
"No, Potter. I cannot risk letting you escape from here and get yourself caught."  
  
With that the greasy haired Potions Master swiftly exited the room, locked the door with an evident 'click', and left the Boy-Who-Lived to wallow in his own thoughts.  
  
*************  
  
Harry sighed and stood up in his 'room'. The silence was interrupted by a low growl from his stomach. Food had appeared out of nowhere twice since he had shoved in here with the lame explanation about the situation.  
  
Irritation was crawling all over his skin. Couldn't someone just open the door, give his news of the attack, and then leave him locked in this fucking room? What that really too much to ask? Was it?  
  
No answer! Of course not. This was getting out of hand. He was alone, in a dark room, and was expecting answers to his thoughts. If the bastards that put him in here didn't came back soon he was going to go insane. Though when you've been through as much as Harry had, its not surprising.  
  
Everything around Harry seemed to be causing him trouble. Well maybe not everything, but all things that were of any importance had really gone down the shitter! The most recent being the fucking Slytherin's and the spoilt ferret known as Malfoy. Just because he got his Death Eater father to get him the best broom money can buy . . . in Knockturn Alley. Only a dark arts wizarding store would sell something with the name 'Winged Demon 666'.  
  
Those evil intimidating morons showing off at every chance they got. Harry had to admit that their team had improved, whether it was a new training regime, steroids or magic, only the slimy Slytherin's knew, but it was that fact alone which inclined the Gryffindor team to take on the challenge. Thinking back now it was obviously suspicious, but it wasn't like a Gryffindor to chicken out of anything, especially when it came to those dirty Snakes.  
  
Trust them to organise a match just so they could show off their skills and rub it in the Gryffindors faces.  
  
At first, all the Gryffindors that had come to support the team seemed to be having a great time. Ron cheering the loudest, Dean with another banner that had luminous writing supporting the slogan 'Snakes Cower at the Lions Power!', Seamus, Neville, and about twenty others supports.  
  
For a while there it felt like the old days to Harry. All of the initial threats wiped from his mind, and the only focus of his intentions was the all-important Quidditch match. Though the Slytherin's had to turn that into a problem too.  
  
It wasn't a pretty sight when Malfoy rose in the air with the snitch that usually had Harry's name on it. There was only one thing worst than the facial expressions of the Slytherin team and their supporters - the looks from his fellow Gryffindors. It was the first match that he had ever lost to the Snakes, and when Malfoy had become Seeker it had only made it easier for them to win. Not any more.  
  
An unintentional sigh escaped Harry. The only good thing about that game was it was unofficial, Gryffindor wasn't knocked out of the competition, and the way things were going it seemed as though Slytherin and Gryffindor would go head to head in the final. That is if Slytherin won against Ravenclaw when the new term started, and Harry had no doubt about that.  
  
It was what Ron said after the match that really made Harry feel like crap. Ron was actually trying to comfort the green eyed boy, but those words had been said to him before, and they only encourage bad memories to come flooding back.  
  
'Don't worry Harry. It wasn't your fault.'  
  
The image of a face loomed into his mind. No! He couldn't think about that. Not her. Harry was only just getting over that whole experience, even though he knew he would never truly heal. Voldemort always seemed to know exactly how to really hurt Harry. Where the pain would always radiate around him no matter where the Dark Lord was. Harry could see it in all those eyes that pitied him, whether they were friends or strangers, it didn't matter.  
  
Why did it have to be Hermione and not him?  
  
Harry stood up and walked over to the other side of the room. He scowled at the wall, picturing it as Voldemort, and slammed his fist at the stone. The pain wasn't there at first. Harry deserved so much more when it came to what Hermione went through. A trickle of blood ran down the length of this middle finger. He ignored his now throbbing and gashed up knuckles, wiped the blood on the back of his shirt and started pacing across the room, staring at his feet that where only just visible in the dark.  
  
It may have been hard on Harry, witnessing the whole ordeal, but his sympathy wasn't for himself, but for Ron. Ron and Hermione had gone from friends that always snapped at each other, to a loving couple that really made an impression on everyone they knew. Ron wasn't exactly the most romantic guy, but it was his sincerity and love of life that made Hermione fall for him. And even though it was Hermione that controlled the relationship, making sure that all their homework was done in time to still have a good three hours to snog, Ron loved it because she wasn't a girly girl, and he knew he couldn't handle being around someone like that twenty four-seven.  
  
Oh, Harry had felt like the third wheel, a lot, but they were still his two best friends and he would support them and never deny the happiness that they deserved.  
  
To tell you the truth, Harry having time to himself was an advantage in some ways. It was the holidays after fourth year that Ron and Hermione 'officially' got together. With Voldemort on the loose after that, he could go to the library and search for new spells and curses that would be able to protect him for whatever the evil git decided to throw at him next. With Ron and Hermione in the company of each other, they didn't worry about the Golden Boy of Gryffindor. That was how Harry liked it best. When there was no one around to tell him what to do, how to act, when to go to bed or clean his teeth. There had been no one around for almost his entire life, resulting, for Harry to fend for himself, and only having a dusty, dirty cupboard as his own.  
  
Overall Harry thought Ron and Hermione were good for each other. Hermione kept Ron out of trouble while Ron kept Hermione out of the books (most of the time).  
  
It hadn't even been a year for the couple when Voldemort stuck his face into their business. Another one of his 'brilliant' plans to get to Harry, kill him and get on with taking over the world. The only problem was, when it came to Harry, Voldemort never seemed to get what he wanted - the fall of the last Potter, the annoying pebble in his shoe.  
  
There was a small pop in the vicinity of the room and a plate of roast beef, mashed potato and peas appeared in the centre of the floor. Harry almost stepped on the food while still walking back and forth, contemplating his thoughts and memories. He stared at it for half a second, then sat down and greedily began to stuff the potato in his mouth. By the look of the sort of food sent to him it was dinnertime. Dinner began at about seven at night, so that must have been the time, give or take a few minutes.  
  
Harry shook his head as he swallowed a mouthful. They had kept him locked down here for sixteen hours. Shit.  
  
Ok, so it doesn't really sound that long, but when thoughts are torture to someone, and there was nothing and no one around to attract their attention, it was kinda hard, and felt like an eternity.  
  
The only reason he was here was to finally fight Voldemort, kill him, and be the hero that everyone made him out to be. Ultimately these people were saving their own hides as much as his.  
  
Bastards. The lot of them.  
  
*************  
After Rant: ok, first chapter out of the way, but I have something else important to query. Has anyone here actually thought about the impact Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix will make on the fic writing community? On the one hand, it will be GREAT. More ideas sprouting, hidden stories to reveal, new characters to write about, new magic to manipulate. But then you think about the stories that are already half way though. These ideas and motives will be challenged and shot down when all of this new info in the Harry Potter world is known. For so long I was hanging for the next book in the series to come out, years and years of waiting. Now that I know it will be here in only a few months, I don't know if I want it to spoil all the cool fics that I have lived, and survived on. 


	2. Sneaking suspicions Draco

Chapter two for all of you!!! (how lame was that?!)  
  
*clears throat* ahem. Here you are people, another chapter to keep your mind off the boringness of the muggle world (if that is where you actually are at the moment.). as for me, I have a hankering for a few shots of JD and a snooze. I expect my master to be calling for me sometime soon, and don't tell any other Death Eaters this, but if you are slightly drunk (to the point when you are still coherent and can respond to the dark lord correctly, then the Cruciatus curse doesn't hurt so much. Shit I'm brilliant!  
  
Oh, by the way, this next bit follows along Draco (my son) and all of his annoying thoughts. So if you are indeed SLYTHERIN enough to read this, by all means and go ahead!!!  
  
(For you other people in a house that isn't Slytherin, well you too my continue reading, but I doubt you will appreciate the darkness in the fic!!)  
  
((Damn, shouldn't have had those other drinks earlier!))  
Chapter 2 - there ain't a name for this, so if you wanted one PISS OFF!!  
  
*************  
  
Finally dinner was over for Draco. All day he had noticed something very interesting that probably not many did. The famous scarhead had been missing all day. And that hadn't been the only change that had occurred. All the staff had been overly nervous about something, forgetting to collect the last assignment tasks for the term, talking about spells that the sixth years had learnt in second year, and Professor Snape had even called off all of his classes all together, something that had never happened in Snape's entire teaching career.  
  
Something was up, and Draco Malfoy was going to get to the bottom of it. In the mean time he had Quidditch practice to get to. His Winged-Demon 666 had proved a substantial challenge to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was a practice game last week that proved this. The Slytherin team had 'kindly' invited the Gryffindors for a 'friendly' game that Friday night before curfew. Only a small number from each house was allowed to come and support their team, as to not wake up and alert the teachers of their activities. Draco grinned, remembering the game.  
  
*The Game*  
  
"Three. Two. One. GO!"  
  
Fourteen players, one seventh year Ravenclaw as the referee and four balls rose into the air at the sound of the whistle. Electricity was running through Draco's body at the thought of how this game would finish, and the Gryffindorks faces when it did.  
  
Draco was the fastest to get above the stadium to look for that little glint of gold, but it was the only time he used some of the potential of his new broom, saving it as a nice surprise for the other team when the time came to catch the snitch. He took a look around. The scarhead had followed him up there.  
  
"Nice night to lose, don't you think Potter?"  
  
"You should know Malfoy, you're the one who has had all the practice."  
  
Potter didn't face the blond boy, but a customary scowl graced his features. He kept his cool.  
  
"You have no idea what you've got yourself into," Draco shot back.  
  
"Oh, I assure you, I do. And my team will do whatever's necessary to kick your arse."  
  
"Stop talking shit, Potter. You and you noble team wouldn't do 'whatever's necessary' to win. The only way you can win against us is if you cheat, and we both know you wont do that."  
  
Potter turned his broom to face Draco. Hard green eyes met cold silver.  
  
"And what makes you so sure you're going to win Malfoy?"  
  
Draco did a quick little manoeuvre and stopped the handle of his broom inches from Potter's face. It took a few seconds for the scarhead to focus his eyes on the now too close writing on the handle, but when he could finally read it he mumbled the words.  
  
"Winged Demon 666"  
  
"That's right Potter. Father brought it for me a few days ago at Knockturn Alley. Best broom money can buy."  
  
Potter snorted. "Yeah Malfoy. Trust your father to buy your things from that fucked up place. Do you really think you can beat us just because you got a new broomstick that functions on dark magic?"  
  
Draco's silver eyes narrowed. How dare the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived intimidate him. He mentally slapped himself. Well duh, that was like Potter's unofficial job.  
  
"Lets just see if you're that confident at the end of the game, shall we?"  
  
He gave is traditional Malfoy smirk and flew off. Draco focused back on the game to find that the score was forty-to-thirty to Gryffindor. For once this didn't worry him in the slightest. Let the bloody Gryffindors think they've got the upper hand, and in one swift flick of a broom tail, make all those dreams come crashing down around them. Draco prided the way his conniving mind worked.  
  
The weather stayed clear, although it was a little cold being night in the middle of December. This was what made Draco decide that it was time to finish this match and put his foot in the Gryffindor pride. Besides that annoying cheering from the Lions fan club was really getting on his nerves.  
  
His broomstick felt like it knew its rider was about to break out the moves, and it started vibrating beneath Draco's fingers. "Let's go," he muttered and shot off in the direction of Potter.  
  
All the raven hair boy saw was a blur of forest green robes race past him in the direction of the Slytherin hoops. Draco didn't yet know where the golden snitch was, but he had a plan.  
  
Once Potter realised what the green thing was he sped after Draco. Draco wanted to give the scarhead the impression that he'd seen the golden ball, when obviously he hadn't. All he really wanted to do was see if he could out fly Harry's own broom so he knew how much of a competition he was. This year the Quidditch cup was going to be back in its rightful location - the Slytherin trophy cabinet.  
  
Draco dodged the players from both teams, occasionally almost knocking someone off their broom, around the bludgers and quaffle and through the hoops. Potter stayed pretty close behind, but couldn't seem to catch up with the Slytherin seeker. A malicious grin spread across Draco's face, perfect.  
  
A flutter of wings and a glimpse of gold whipped past Draco's left ear towards the direction behind him. He sharply turned 180 degrees and almost collided with Potter. He let the opportunity for a vicious comment pass and flew after the snitch. This was it. He was ahead of Potter, inches away from the snitch and a victory to Slytherin over Gryffindor.  
  
Draco outstretched his right hand, holding onto his broom with his left, paying full attention of the snitch, and only just registering the fact that Potter was at his waist. If the muggle loving scum was really going to cheat to win this game, now would be the time. Draco kept flying at full speed towards the glimmer of gold, and Potter didn't make one foul move.  
  
It was time for the game to end. With one more spurt of speed, Draco's fingers wrapped around the tiny winged ball and it was official - Slytherin won.  
  
Draco rose into the air, right hand holding the snitch raised above his head. The look on Potter's face was priceless. It was just too bad that this had only been a practice game.  
  
*************  
  
The rest of the Slytherin team wasn't at the pitch yet. Draco had brought his broom and robes with him to dinner. He planned to get some flying in before the others arrived. As the wind licked his hair he again mused over that fact that Potter had been missing that day. Not to mention Snape and the peculiar behaviour of the other teachers. Though the more he thought about it, the more the answer became obvious - the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Bloody- Die was in danger, again.  
  
Draco shook his head. Was there any time that famous Potter wasn't the centre of attention?  
  
Now that question just didn't need answering. Draco was jealous of the fact that Potter had all the attention, all the friends, all the leeway when breaking rules around the school. Everyone knew his name, everyone looked up to him, and everyone wanted a piece of Harry Potter. Not Draco though. Somewhere deep down Draco had to admit he did have a little respect for the guy, but there was no way he would get down on his knees and grovel at his feet. Draco was a Malfoy, and Malfoy's aren't supposed to be little lap puppies. Well so his father told him. But his father was an all out hypocrite.  
  
Isn't bowing down to someone known as the Dark Lord and following his orders being a 'lap puppy'? Lucius had to go off and torture muggles and mudbloods just because Voldemort has some grudge against them. Well Draco wasn't going to be like his father.  
  
There had been a time when that was all Draco had wanted to be. A pureblood wizard, the heir of the Malfoy estate and a man that everyone feared and respected. That was all before Voldemort came onto the picture.  
  
Draco had never seen his father take orders from anyone. As a child, Lucius had been his idol. The perfect original of what Draco thought he would once grow up to be.  
  
When Voldemort came back into existence that slowly changed, and Draco gradually stopped admiring Lucius and giving him his full respect. How was it possible that for the first fourteen years of Draco's life be built around the fact that you should be independent, strong and powerful for it to diminish when your father abruptly stop a conversation just to tend to the Dark Lord's needs?  
  
Eighteen months it had taken for Draco to drift away from his father. Of course he never showed it, being a Malfoy meant you hide you weaknesses and true feelings. How else would you get respect? And besides, his father was still good for the expensive gifts, like the broom he was riding at that very moment.  
  
Lucius would strut around the manor (when he wasn't at a stupid Death Eater meeting), proud of the fact that his only son and heir was going to follow in his footsteps. How wrong he was!  
  
Draco had actually witnessed a couple of Death Eater meetings himself, and if you ever saw what they got up to you would understand Draco's reasoning for screwing the lot and going off alone. Well in his mind anyway. When he was at the meetings he had to stay there to keep up appearances. Lucius stood next to him, grin on his face and a hand on his sons shoulder. It made Draco feel sick.  
  
Then there was the 'fun' that the group had. Voldemort would sit in his high backed chair observing the scene of mudbloods and muggles getting tortured, never saying a thing unless he had orders to give or a spell to cast. And all of his followers would stand in a circle laughing, joking and enjoying the suffering of some poor, unfortunate person. This would be about the time when Draco's dinner would come back and visit his taste buds. The community of Death Eaters would drink and have a good time, or act like it, as if the meeting was a common social get together of a bunch of friends. It was plain disgusting and wrong!  
  
Draco would rather die than join with that mentally unstable group of cocksuckers.  
  
A yell from the pitch alerted Draco that the rest of his tem had arrived for training. He turned his broom and headed down to join them. The captain, Blaise Zabini, always wanted to have some lame talk to begin with. Half the training session was over before they actually started doing anything remotely constructive. Draco had been given the opportunity to be captain of the Slytherin team, but denied. He wasn't exactly the responsible type when it came to other people. He couldn't believe that they would think he'd sit down, developing stupid strategies to benefit the team and lead them to victory. Draco did want to kick the Gryffindorks arses, but he wasn't the guy to do it.  
  
Since Blaise Zabini became captain, Draco had to admit, that the team had improved. Ever since the start of the school year the he had been dedicated to their success, though he seemed to have done nothing of much difference for the team. But they were better, the whole of the Slytherin house knew it, and it was because of Zabini.  
  
Draco landed smoothly in front of the rest of the team and propped his broom up on his right shoulder, waiting for Zabini to start his rant, in silence.  
  
"Team," Zabini began, crossing his arms. "The mock game played last week against the Gryffindors was good, but not good enough. They were in the lead at one stage, and if Draco here didn't capture the snitch as soon as he did, they might have had the possibility to win."  
  
The team glowered at Zabini's words of criticism, expecting praise, while Draco stood there with a nonchalant expression on his face, honestly not giving a fuck at what was being said. He knew he was unbeatable now that he had proven his skills on his new broom against Potter, so why bother about changing anything? Especially when it was the rest of the team that Zabini was pissed with.  
  
"Tonight I would like us to focus on the Chasers," Zabini continued. "The Gryffindors are still better than us in that area, so we will practice tactics until I think we are of a better standard. If that doesn't work, then it is back to the old Slytherin way of winning - cheating!"  
  
There was a cheer from five members of the team this time, having liked the way their captain thought about winning. The corner of Zabini's mouth twisted into a kind of grin, showing he was pleased with himself. And Draco raised his eyebrows and smirked directly at the captain. Sometimes it seemed that Zabini had those five other members wrapped around his little finger.  
  
Zabini had gone onto explaining, in detail, what he wanted the Chasers to do. They were to fly around, handling the quaffle, while dodging bludgers, other members of the team and anything else that was found to throw at them.  
  
Draco had found it rather boring, and half way through the training session, decided to use the potential of his broom to actually knock the Chasers off their own. He had found it quite hysterical, seeing his team- mates clamber onto the handles, waiting for someone else to haul them back up.  
  
When the victims of these attack complained to Zabini about Draco's unruly behaviour, he just let out a laugh and said, "If you can't handle just one person out of your own team, how will you handle seven snivelling Gryffindors?"  
  
With a lot of scowling, and uncalled for behaviour, Quidditch practice was over.  
  
Draco shouldered his broom and headed to the Slytherin change rooms. He undressed and had a quick shower before the rest of the team invaded his privacy. Then, with a towel around his waist, he walked into the locker room to find everyone just standing around taking, and drinking bottles of water to get hydrated.  
  
Now that Draco thought about it that was the only thing that Zabini did do differently. He would insist that before anyone did anything after their training session, they were to drink a bottle of water. No big deal really, and Draco was the only one who seemed to be able to get out of drinking the stuff. For some reason Draco didn't like plain water, and even though everyone would tell him that it was tasteless, he always turned his nose up at it like it was some fungi infested broccoli. Perhaps it was the tastelessness that made Draco hate the stuff.  
  
Anyway, Zabini didn't push it. The two has sort of known each other through their parents when they were little, so it wasn't a secret that he wouldn't drink water. He'd hated it ever since he could remember.  
  
He quickly got dressed in a dark blue shirt, black pants and black jacket, fixed his hair so it was neatly hanging around his eyes, picked up his broom and walked back up towards the castle, alone.  
  
The controversy of talking about training didn't really appeal to Draco. It was absolutely boring and had no point to it whatsoever. But, Draco mused to himself, if it made the others leave him alone, then it was fine by him.  
  
Draco looked at his watch (a wizarding one that his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday) and found that it was ten to nine. There was just over an hour till curfew so he decided to stay outside just a little longer. He didn't really feel like Pansy hanging off him and calling his stupid names like 'Draky-poo'. Draco shuddered. When would the dumb bitch ever get it through her thick head that he DIDN'T LIKE HER?  
  
He shook his head and slumped down on the grass near the Forbidden Forest, looking out towards the lake. It had been a bad idea of his to ever go out with her back in fourth year. Wait, it wasn't his idea it had been his fathers. Luckily his father had met her a few months later, and understood why Draco wanted to terminate the relationship.  
  
But still, after two years now, Pansy was a brainless twit and believed that after graduation they would get married. As if!  
  
A small pebble was near Draco's right hand and he picked it up and threw it toward the lake. He heard the distant splash, telling him that he made the throw, and saw the water faintly ripple under the moonlight.  
  
There was a crunch from behind where Draco was sitting that came from the Forbidden Forest. First his head swivelled in the direction of the noise, and then he stood up and faced the forest, eyes searching the whole time for what was there. His ears pricked up and became more sensitive to what they usually were. All he heard after that was the rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the distant laughter which was that of his team-mates making their way back into the castle.  
  
At first Draco thought it had been a person in there, if not people. But as he calmed down, and his heart rate became normal again, he figured that it must have been some sort of animal that had strayed too close to the edge of the forest, and quickly hurried off at the sound of the pebble hitting the water.  
  
Thought the idea that it was a someone didn't leave Draco's mind completely. After all Potter had obviously been in hiding today, away from the rest of the school, and an attack hadn't occurred yet. Maybe it was a Death Eater making their initial move. Besides, attacking at night was more of the Death Eaters style. Dark magic with a dark atmosphere.  
  
The more Draco thought about it, the more it seemed possible.  
  
He had been telling himself before that he'd get to the bottom of all of this, and the opportunity seemed to have just arrived for him. Pulling out his wand as a precaution, Draco slinked around to a cluster of bushes near the castle wall and tucked his broom under them so it wouldn't be in his way if he had to move and follow anyone.  
  
Another crunch from the forest averted Draco attention back to what the source of the noise could possibly be. Perhaps his theory of it being Potter's attackers was right. He held his breath and crouched down out of sight, peering through the thinner branches up the top.  
  
He silently let out the breath he was holding and focused his eyes on any movement. Another crunch, this time more to the left than the last. Another crunch, and another. Apparently there was more than one person, or thing in the forest, only metres away from his hiding spot.  
  
The crunch became more common, as if things were landing on the fallen leaves and twigs simultaneously. Things that were about the weight of an average person.  
  
Slowly a figure emerged out of the forest. Draco once again held his breath in order for him to keep his hiding place and not be found. The figure was decked out in all black robes, and it was obviously a person. A person wearing the uniform and mask of a Death Eater. More and more Death Eater's stepped out of the forest, hooded and robed like the others before them. It was impossible to tell one from the other, as if there were charms on the robes to make them all look the same weight and height.  
  
Draco furrowed his brow. It took all of these Death Eater's, about forty in all, to find and capture a sixteen-year-old boy who wasn't even a fully trained wizard. How pathetic. It really made a statement about how mighty and powerful these supporters of the Dark Lord were. And not to mention that one of them happened to be his own father.  
  
His silver eyes scanned the crowd. Which one was his father? He wondered.  
  
One more figure walked from the dark cover of the forest, this one much more slimmer and taller than the others. Draco didn't need three guesses to know who it was - Lord Voldemort in the flesh.  
  
Voldemort swiftly took up his position in front of the group, two of the Death Eater's taking their place on the left and right of the Dark Lord, one with a silver hand, and the other with a wisp of pail blond hair.  
  
Draco's stomach churned. He had been to the Death Eater meetings himself. The two men standing along side their Master was Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy.  
After rant: Ah . . . for all of *hic* you's ou' there whom *hic* are at da ended of this chamapter *hic* I sug'est tha' you's go out an' get drunk too *hic* an' if you's ain't ol' enou' den you stil' should do it anyways *hic*  
  
*sound of a body hitting the floor*  
  
)that's what you get when you drink b4 a DE meeting!!! What would happen if you're out cold and not responding to the call of the dark mark??? Uh oh!( 


End file.
